


Songbird

by Zai42



Series: October 2020 [27]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Captivity, Crying, Death Threats, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Humiliation, Other, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27223999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: “Sing for us, songbird.”Prompt: Degradation
Relationships: Apophis/Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming)
Series: October 2020 [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946893
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29
Collections: A Wilde Ride October Collection





	Songbird

“Sing for us, songbird,” Apophis said lazily, running his clawed fingers through Wilde’s hair. Wilde was silent for half a beat too long; Apophis fisted his hand, tugged his head slowly but inexorably backwards until his neck ached. “Well?”

Wilde closed his eyes briefly. “Of course,” he said. Apophis didn’t loosen his grip, and Wilde let out a carefully controlled exhale. “Of course, my lord,” he said. Apophis let him up. 

Wilde resettled himself before the window, staring out at the sunlit expanse of the city below them. He sighed, slowly, and began to sing.

A half-elf hero, today, he thought, clever and quick-witted, outsmarting every enemy in their path and bringing down a great evil. They were good and just in their cause, noble and kind and fond of explosions.

Apophis listened with the same amused smile he always wore when Wilde sang, unbothered by the bloody downfall of the tyrant in his tale. He carded his hands through Wilde’s hair, petting him slowly as he sang. As the last notes of the final chorus faded away, Apophis pulled away to applaud slowly. “Lovely as ever, songbird,” he murmured, his hand sliding down Wilde’s jaw, tilting his face towards him. His lips barely brushed Wilde’s cheek, his breath like the wind in the desert, hot and reeking of sun-baked sand. “We thank you.”

* * *

The thin gauze of his robe was plastered to his skin with how Apophis’ body heat and proximity made him sweat, but Wilde remained steadfastly upright, spine straight, eyes empty and staring straight ahead. “We thought we would sing for you, tonight, songbird,” Apophis purred, in a baritone that made Wilde’s teeth ache. “Would you like that?”

“Whatever pleases you,” Wilde said blankly, and waited a few pointed seconds before adding, _“sire.”_

Apophis snorted. Always unflappable. Not like Wellington, who fell for Wilde’s barbs more often than not; before Apophis, his sharp tongue was barely a needle. He cradled Wilde’s jaw with an almost gentle claw, pressed a searing kiss to his throat, and sang. 

Wilde hadn’t mourned his situation, hadn’t allowed himself any pity, but Apophis wove a tale of such hopeless horror that his breath caught in his throat. He felt himself begin to tremble, felt the heat of Apophis’ smile as he noticed it, too. He sang with cruel relish, the story of a brave band of heroes and their gruesome ends. An orc pulped into bloody paste; a dwarf melted by righteous dragonfire; a goblin torn limb from limb and left to die in agony. Each death lingered upon, lilted with poetic detail. 

Wilde didn’t acknowledge the tears on his face until Apophis bent to kiss them away; he closed his eyes and released a shuddering sigh, spine rigid, teeth clenched around a sob. 

“Thank you, songbird,” Apophis said gently, tilting Wilde's face towards him. “As always, your presence lifts our spirits.”

Wilde swallowed until he trusted his voice not to shake. “Of course,” he whispered, and didn’t bother to keep the venom from his tone.


End file.
